


The Doctor and his Best Friend: Grief

by DreamsandStarsEternal



Series: Ten/Rose collection [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, References to Depression, Sad, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsandStarsEternal/pseuds/DreamsandStarsEternal
Summary: The tenth doctor gets aroused by his memories of Rose, and so he deals with the problem the good old fashioned way.Martha finds out, anger and a small heart-wrenching argument follows.





	1. The problem

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic *yikes*. I decided to publish because I felt like I needed to. So as I said before, first fic, constructive crit. Welcomed. Please leave a comment if you liked it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Doctor Who francise, this is purely non-profit.

The doctor was lying on his bed, gazing up, imagining he could see galaxies through the TARDIS's roof.

Martha was a few levels below cooking, a habbit she recently picked up on. The continuous time travelling throughout space was tiring her apparently, though she didn't look at him whilst she that. So that is how they ended up drifting through the time vortex without harm or fail. 

It was during these times of quiet that The Doctor felt an overwhelming sense of grief crash into him. It had been so long since Rose graced his life in company, being the brightest star in every universe to him. 

Regret coursed through him as he realised for the upteenth time that he took her for granted, that he should have known that falling in love only resulted in loss and pain. He thought of her beautiful personality, her amazing strength and courage, the fact that she never abandoned him, she stuck with him every journey, her honey like stark honesty, her voice, her face, her body and her lips. 

He froze.

He felt a movent in his pants. After a few seconds of delayed reaction, the realisation drew an elicit groan out of him. He tried breathing through his nose, trying to calm the producing lump in his pants. 

Coming to terms with the fact that his erection was going nowhere, he locked his bedroom door, then used his latest tinkering invention to silence any sounds that came out.

His eyes caught on one of many sketches of his Rose on his desk. Sitting in his chair with his eyes transfixed to the sketches, he stroked himself slowly through the fabric of his pants. Memories broke through his inner-most barrier of mind, and as if it weren't possible, he felt his heart break just that little bit more. 

Pushing past the memories, he focused on what his hand was doing. There was no denying where this would end up. 

His right hand teased the tip of his manhood through his trousers, and very lightly gasped as he felt a small pool of wetness already growing. He stroked his length a few times before he pulled himself free of his clothings. The Doctors dick sprang free and onto his chest with a pleasurable thump.

Now free of the restrictive clothing, he rushedly moved forward to thrust himself into his hand. The images of Rose was flashing past at great speed, almost as fast as his right hand. With his left hand he reached down and cupped his balls, massaging them to a steady beat of 'Rose'. 

The sound of wet skin lapping against himself was almost his undoing, but he stopped himself from going over the edge. No, if he was going to find completion, it was going to be by his own terms.  

He used the wetness from the tip of his manhood to increase his movement unrestricted. He continued to massage hinself, in the most pleasurable ways with his two hands. When he felt himself rise up to the edge, that almost-unbareable plesant itch inside him, he stopped. Now panting with restraint, he began again slowly.

He reached the edge again sooner than last time, and paused. His fingers were now slick with his fluids, and his balls and dick ached from the lack of release. 

He continued this pattern another four times, and many vocal noises were ripped from his lungs again and again. To say he was greatful for his silencer devise was an understatement. He made up his mind to let himself release. 

He stroked himself slowly. Once. Twice. And then rubed himself fast. The itch came along fast, but instead of stopping, he went faster, massaging himself stronger. He came with the word 'Rose' torn from his lips in an almighty groan. White fluid flew from his manhood and into his cupped hand waiting, not wanting to get it on his sketches of Rose. The aftermath left him trembling, but has he recovered, grief settled over him once more. 

The Doctor methodically cleaned himself up, when Martha's voice shouted up to him. 'Doctor, if you want food you better come down or its gonna go cold'. 

He replied with a shout of 'Give me five minutes and I'll be there'. 

It must have been a sufficient answer for Martha did not reply.


	2. Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... Im getting second thoughts. But I shall perservere :)
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide, self harming etc. Please do NOT read if you are triggered. 
> 
> No hate towards Martha or Freema, but in this next part Martha isnt exactly portrayed nicely. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Once settled back down at his desk in his chair, his gaze fell on his sketches. Longing and desire coursed through him once more, but he wasn't as aroused as he was before. 

Once again his gaze fell across Rose's face. His head fell into his hands as the tears slowly leaked down his face.

 He knew he had killed for survival, he had been stone cold for fear of breaking. So why did He have to suffer more? He couldn't kill himself, he had tried that numerous times since Rose's unwitting depature. 

Martha had once questioned the scars along his wrists and hands and forearms, and in return he had to make up some planet of some civilization of some heroic torture escape to stop the flow of questions. She bought it easily.

When the TARDIS's heating had malfunctioned a bit, in due course meaning that he had to strip himself of his shirt. The knife scars on his chest were mostly of his doing, both twin to each other over both his hearts.

He couldn't even cut himself on his wrists anymore for distraction for the tickling sensation of himself healing reminded him of the feather light touch of Rose's hand as they stood side by side with the odds of survival dwindling. He would return the touch with a strong hand grasping hers hidden from view. 

If Martha saw the scars, she didn't question him this time, for what he could only gather as undesired attention whilst his shirt was off. 

He knew of her hidden dislike for Rose, on how she was what he could only assume to be jealous. 

He only had eyes for Rose. His two hearts were for Rose. He would never love Martha in any way more than a friend, but he didn't know how to tell her without loosing their friendship. He loved Martha as a friend, nothing more, but he could feel that she felt differently, and for that he was sorry. 

Looking down at Rose, tears were wrenched from his eyes, and gasping sobs were torn from his chest. He was destined to eternity without his Rose, his hearts a barren place of solitude.

His hair was dishevelled from his hands in his hair holding his head up as the depression of grief beat into him again and again.

A knock on his door startled him out of his reprive. 'Doctor! I shouted at you that food is ready, why didn't you answer?'

Rushing, he dried his eyes and flattened his hair, and cleared his throat, trying to perk his voice back to its usual self. 

'Martha, what is it?' He shouted back, relived that his voice was normal. 

Hopefully he could get her to leave his door for a few minutes so he could wash himself, after his extertions had left him sweaty, and there was small dark patch on his pants from where he rubbed himself through the fabric, and had leaked a little. 

'Doctor!' Came the shout again.   
Why wouldn't she listen to him? 

Martha banged on the door again and again, until she threatened to get the spare key and unlock it. 

He responded by shouting at her not to, but she didn't seem to hear him.

He didn't even have time to react when she did as threatened and opened his door.

Exasperated, Martha's face went into the tell tale sign of annoyed anger. 

'Why didn't you answer me, and you're awake so you would have heard me!?'  
She half shouted half growled at him.

Before he could even respond he saw her gaze fall on the silencing device. 

'Been tinkering have you? Whats it for?' All anger left her voice and was replaced with wonder. 

He decided to go full honesty as he felt like he couldn't manage to tell a lie and maintain it. 

'A device to silence noises in a general space or room. Very handy' he replied unfased.

Martha looked spectacularly confused. 'Why do you need a device to silence what's going on in your room, let alone use it?'

The Doctor, attempting a light hearted joke said 'I didn't want to let you suffer in listening to my voice in singing.'


	3. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The completion of my first fanfic.  
>  *victory dance*
> 
> As always, tell me your thoughts and contructive critism is welcomed.
> 
> Disclaimer: same as chapter 1

'What were you really doing that means I can't hear hmm? What are you hiding from me Doctor?'   
Martha said with a questioning glare.

The Doctor, having lost his will to fight or even argue with her anymore, gestured to his lower regions unbashedly in demeanure.  

'I was attending some needs that every species of somewhat human appearance does at least twice in their lifetime.' 

A beat. 

'There's no need to be embarrassed' he said at Martha's blush. 

'Im not embarrassed. I've just never really met someone so open like that when not showing off' she replied after hesitating before responding. 

Martha opened her mouth to continue but stopped as her gaze fell apon the abundant sketches that he drew of Rose. 

She looked around his room, saw his small stained pants, saw his discarded cloth, the way the sketched were moved away from his chair and said:

'You were jerking off to rose.'

The Doctor nodded once, angry that he felt eyes watering just a little bit. He had never cried in front of anyone other than his family when he was a boy and of course Rose. He would be strong. 

As if she heard his thoughts, she burst out with. 'She's gone. She is good as dead, you will never see her again, you will never feel her or her love again. She is dead to our universe, our life'. She tiraded at him.

His face went blank. Unresponsive. Martha almost apologized, but held her tongue when she saw him open his mouth. No. She would hear what he had to say and then argue back with the facts of life. She would win this.

The Doctor drew in a deep breath and began to speak. 'You don't think I haven't told myself that. You don't think that my feelings for her are so deep that death would be a preferable alternative. Trust me, I've tried. Those scars that you see, they are mine. The marks on my chest, I did them two weeks after I gave up hope of ever seeing her again. But the thing is, I can't ever kill myself, I heal before I full die, as it is not yet time for me to regenerate. The last Time Lord in existence can't even kill himself!' He ended in a shout.

Silence. 

The only sound was heavy breathing on The Doctors part and stunned silence of Martha's behalf.

'Dont you see? I love Rose! It will always be Rose!' He ended with his voice cracking. It was out. He had finally said it. 

And now Martha knew, hopefully she could move on. But after all the things she said about his Rose, he didn't think he could ever forgive her. No one says that stuff about Rose and gets away with it. 

No one.


End file.
